Fifty Shades Darker(115)

"Red Room here we come," I taunt him.

He merely raises an eyebrow and directs me to continue. I make quick work of the green stripe and by some fluke, manage to knock in the final orange stripe.

"Name your pocket," Christian murmurs, and it's as if he's talking about something else, something dark and rude.

"Top left-hand." I take aim over the black, hit it, but miss. It skirts wide. Damn.

Christian smiles a wicked grin as he leans over the table and makes short work of the two remaining solids. I am practically panting, watching him, his lithe body stretching over the table. He stands and chalks his cue, his eyes burning into me.

"If I win..."

Oh yes?

"I am going to spank you, then f*ck you over this billiard table."

Holy shit. Every single muscle south of my navel clenches hard.

"Top right," he murmurs, pointing to the black, and bends to take the shot.

With easy grace, Christian taps the white ball so that it glides across the table, kisses the black and oh-so-slowly the black rolls, teeters on the edge, and finally drops into the top right pocket of the billiard table.

Damn.

He stands, and his mouth twists in a triumphant I-so-own-you-Steele smile. Putting down his cue, he saunters casually toward me, all tousled hair, jeans, and white T-shirt. He doesn't look like a CEO - he looks like a bad boy from the wrong side of town. Holy cow, he's so f*cking sexy.

"You're not going to be a sore loser, are you?" he murmurs, barely containing his grin.

"Depends how hard you spank me," I whisper, holding on to my cue for support. He takes my cue and puts it to one side, hooks his finger into the top of my shirt, and pulls me toward him.

"Well, let's count your misdemeanors, Miss Steele." He counts on his long fingers.

"One, making me jealous of my own staff. Two, arguing with me about working. And three, waving your delectable derriere at me for the last twenty minutes."

His eyes glow a soft gray with excitement, and leaning down, he rubs his nose against mine. "I want you to take your jeans and this very fetching shirt off. Now." He plants a feather-soft kiss on my lips, wanders nonchalantly over to the door, and locks it.

Oh my.

When he turns and gazes at me, his eyes are burning. I stand paralyzed like a complete zombie, my heart pounding, my blood pumping, not actually able to move a muscle. In my mind, all I can think is -  this is for him - the thought repeating like a mantra over and over again.

"Clothes, Anastasia. You appear to still be wearing them. Take them off - or I will do it for you."

"You do it." I finally find my voice, and it sounds low and heated. Christian grins.

"Oh, Miss Steele. It's a dirty job, but I think I can rise to the challenge."

"You normally rise to most challenges, Mr. Grey." I raise an eyebrow at him, and he smirks.

"Why, Miss Steele, whatever do you mean?" On his way over to me, he pauses at the small desk built into one of the bookshelves. Reaching over, he picks up a twelve-inch Perspex ruler. He holds each end and flexes it, his eyes not leaving mine.

Holy shit - his weapon of choice. My mouth goes dry.

Suddenly, I'm hot and bothered and damp in all the right places. Only Christian could turn me on with just a look and the flex of a ruler. He slips it into the back pocket of his jeans and ambles toward me, eyes dark and full of promise. Without saying a word, he drops to his knees in front of me and starts to undo my laces, quickly and efficiently, dragging both my Converse and socks off. I lean on the side of the billiard table so I don't fall.