Fifty Shades Darker(162)

My smile fades. I look like his mother. This wounds me, deeply, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. We all look like his mom.

How the hell do I move on from the disclosure of that little secret? No wonder he didn't want to tell me. But surely he can't remember much of his mother. I wonder once more, if I should talk to Dr. Flynn. Would Christian let me? Perhaps he could fill in the gaps.

I shake my head. I feel world weary, but I'm enjoying the calm serenity of the great room and its beautiful works of art - cold and austere, but in their own way, still beautiful in the shadows and surely worth a fortune. Could I live here? For better, for worse? In sick-ness and in health? I close my eyes, lean my head back against the glass, and take a deep, cleansing breath.

The peaceful tranquility is shattered by a visceral, primeval cry that makes every single hair on my body stand to attention. Christian! Holy f*ck - what's happened? I am on my feet, running back to the bedroom before the echoes of that horrible sound have died away, my heart thumping with fear.

I flip one of the light switches, and Christian's bedside light comes to life. He's tossing and turning, writhing in agony. No! He cries out again, and the eerie, devastating sound lances through me anew.

Shit - a nightmare!

"Christian!" I lean over him, grab his shoulders, and shake him awake. He opens his eyes, and they are wild and vacant, scanning quickly round the empty room before coming back to rest on me.

"You left, you left, you must have left," he mumbles - his wide-eyed stare becoming accusatory - and he looks so lost, it wrenches at my heart. Poor Fifty.

"I'm here." I sit down on the bed beside him. "I'm here," I murmur softly in an effort to reassure him. I reach out to place my palm on the side of his face, trying to soothe him.

"You were gone," he whispers rapidly. His eyes are still wild and frightened, but he seems to be calming.

"I went to get a drink. I was thirsty."

He closes his eyes and rubs his face. When he opens them again, he looks so desolate.

"You're here. Oh, thank God." He reaches for me, and grabbing me tightly, he pulls me down on the bed beside him.

"I just went for a drink," I murmur.

Oh, the intensity of his fear... I can feel it. His T-shirt is drenched in sweat, and his heartbeat is pounding as he hugs me close. He's gazing at me as if reassuring himself that I am really here. I gently stroke his hair and then his cheek.

"Christian, please. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," I say soothingly.

"Oh, Ana," he breathes. He grasps my chin to hold me in place, and then his mouth is on mine. Desire sweeps through him, and unbidden my body responds - it's so tied and attuned to him. His lips are at my ear, my throat, then back at my mouth, his teeth gently pulling at my lower lip, his hand traveling up my body from my hip to my breast, dragging my T-shirt up. Caressing me, feeling his way through the dips and shallows of my skin, he elicits the same familiar reaction, his touch sending shivers through me. I moan as his hand cups my breast and his fingers tighten over my nipple.

"I want you," he murmurs.

"I'm here for you. Only you, Christian."

He groans and kisses me once more, passionately, with a fervor and desperation I've not felt from him before. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, I tug and he helps me pull it off over his head. Kneeling between my legs, he hastily pulls me upright and drags my T-shirt off. His eyes are serious, wanting, full of dark secrets - exposed. He folds his hands around my face and kisses me, and we sink down into the bed once more, his thigh between both of mine so that he's half-lying on top of me. His erection is rigid against my hip through his boxer briefs. He wants me, but his words from earlier choose this moment to come back and haunt me, what he said about his mother. And it's like a bucket of cold water on my libido. Fuck. I can't do this. Not now.