Fifty Shades Darker (book 5)

Chapter 114

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I can’t lose her. I’ve only just found her.

Confused and overwhelmed, I deposit my plate in the sink and head to my bedroom.

It will be our bedroom if she says yes.

Outside the bathroom, I hear a stifled noise. She’s weeping. I open the door and she’s on the floor,

curled up in the fetal position, wearing one of my T-shirts and sobbing. The sight of her in such

despair is like a swift kick to my gut that leaves me breathless. It’s intolerable.

I crawl onto the floor. “Hey,” I murmur, as I pull her into my lap. “Please don’t cry, Ana, please.” She

snakes her arms around me and clings to me, but her crying shows no sign of abating.

Oh, baby.

Gently I stroke her back, thinking about how much more her tears affect me than Leila’s did.

Because I love her.

She’s brave and strong. And this is how I reward her, by making her cry.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper, holding her, and I start to rock to and fro as she weeps. I kiss her hair.

Eventually, her crying subsides and she shudders, racked with dry sobs. I stand with her in my

arms, carry her to the bedroom, and lay her down on the bed. She yawns and closes her eyes while

I strip out of my pants and shirt. Leaving my underwear on, I slip into a T-shirt and switch off the

lights. In bed, I hold her close. Within seconds, her breathing deepens and I know she’s asleep.

She’s exhausted, too. I dare not move for fear of waking her. She needs sleep.

In the dark I try to make some sense of all that has occurred this evening. So much has happened. Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

Too much, too much…

Leila stands before me. She’s a waif and her stench makes me take a step back.

The stench. No.

The stench.

He smells. He smells of nasty. And dirt. It makes sick come into my mouth.

He’s mad. I hide under the table. There you are, you little prick.

He has cigarettes.

No. I call my mommy. But she doesn’t hear me. She lies on the floor.

Smoke comes out of his mouth.

He laughs.

And he holds my hair.

The burn. I scream.

I don’t like the burn.

Mommy is on the floor. I sleep beside her. She is cold. I cover her with my blankie.

He’s back. He’s mad.

Crazy. Stupid. Bitch.

Get out of my way, you stupid fucking runt. He hits me and I fall.

He goes. He locks the door. And it’s Mommy and me.

And then she’s gone. Where is Mommy? Where is Mommy?

He holds the cigarette in front of me.

No.

He takes a puff.

No.

He presses it against my skin.

No.

The pain. The smell.

No.

“Christian!”

My eyes flick open. There’s light. Where am I? My bedroom.

Ana’s out of bed, holding my shoulders, shaking me.

“You left, you left, you must have left,” I mumble incoherently. She sits down beside me. “I’m here,”

she says, and lays her palm on my cheek.

“You were gone.”

I only have nightmares when you’re not here.

“I just went for a drink. I was thirsty.”

Closing my eyes, I rub my face, trying to separate fact from fiction. She hasn’t left. She’s looking

down at me: kind, kind Ana. My girl. “You’re here. Oh, thank God.” I pull her down beside me on the

bed.

“I just went to get a drink,” she says, as I wrap my arms around her. She strokes my hair and my

cheek. “Christian, please. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh, Ana.” My mouth claims hers. She tastes of orange juice…sweetness and home.

My body responds as I kiss her, her ear, her throat. I tug her bottom lip with my teeth as I caress her

body. My hand pushing up the T-shirt she’s wearing. She trembles as I cup her breast and she

moans into my mouth as my fingers find her nipple. “I want you,” I whisper.

I need you.

“I’m here for you. Only you, Christian.”

Her words light a fire inside me. I kiss her again.

Please never leave me.

She grabs my T-shirt and I move so that she can pull it off. I pull her upright while kneeling between

her legs and drag off her T-shirt. She looks up at me, her eyes dark and full of hunger and longing.

Holding her face, I kiss her, and we sink onto the mattress. Her fingers tangle in my hair as she

kisses me back, matching my fervor. Her tongue in my mouth, eager to please.

Oh, Ana.

Suddenly, she pulls back and pushes against my arms. “Christian. Stop. I can’t do this.”

“What? What’s wrong?” I murmur against her throat.

“No, please. I can’t do this, not now. I need some time, please…”

“Oh, Ana, don’t overthink this,” I whisper, as my anxiety returns. I’m fully awake. She’s rejecting me.

No. I’m desperate. I tug her earlobe with my teeth and her body bows under my touch and she

gasps. “I’m just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please.” I stop and rub my

nose against hers and stare down at her, holding my weight on my arms as I wait for her response.

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