Fifty Shades Darker (book 5)

Chapter 5

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“Mr. Rodriguez, very impressive. I’m sorry we can’t stay longer, but we need to head back to Seattle. Anastasia?” I take her hand.

“Bye, José. Congratulations again.” She leans away from me, gives Rodriguez a tender kiss on his reddening cheek, and I’m going to have a coronary. It takes all my self-control not to haul her over my shoulder. Instead I drag her by the hand to the front door and out onto the street. She’s stumbling behind me, trying to keep up, but I don’t care.

Right now. I just want to—

There’s an alley. I hurry us into it, and before I know what I’m doing I’ve pressed her against the wall. I grab her face between my hands, pinning her body with mine as rage and desire mix in a heady, explosive cocktail. I capture her lips with mine and our teeth clash, but then my tongue is in her mouth. She tastes of cheap wine and delicious, sweet, sweet Ana.

Oh, this mouth.

I have missed this mouth.

She ignites around me. Her fingers are in my hair, pulling hard. She moans into my mouth, giving me more access, and she’s kissing me back, her passion unleashed, her tongue entwined with mine. Tasting. Taking. Giving.

Her hunger is unexpected. Desire bursts through my body, like a forest fire licking through dry tinder. I’m so aroused—I want her now, here, in this alley. And what I’d intended as a punishing I-own-you kiss becomes something else.

She wants this, too.

She’s missed this, too.

And it’s more than arousing.

I groan in response,

With one hand, I hold her at the nape of her neck as we kiss. My free hand travels down her body, and I reacquaint myself with her curves: her breast, her waist, her ass, her thigh. She moans as my fingers find the hem of her dress and start tugging it higher. My goal is to pull it up, fuck

It’s intoxicating, and I want her like I’ve never wanted her before.

In the distance and through the fog of my lust, I hear a police siren wail.

No! No! Grey!

Not like this. Get a grip.

“You. Are. Mine!” I growl, and push myself away from her, as my reason returns. “For the love of God, Ana.” I bend over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath and calm my raging body. I’m painfully hard for her right now.

Has anyone ever affected me like this? Ever?

Christ! I nearly fucked her in a back alley.

This is jealousy. This is what it feels like: my insides gutted and raw, my self-control absent. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.

“I’m sorry,” she says, hoarse.

“You should be. I know what you’re doing. Do you want the photographer, Anastasia? He obviously has feelings for you.”

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