Fifty Shades Darker (book 5) novel Chapter 54

Man, that was good.

I’m spent.

After all the teasing and the anticipation during that meal…this was inevitable. I kiss her shoulder and pull out of her and remove the condom, tossing it into the wastebasket by the bed. That will give my mother’s housekeeper something to think about.

Ana’s still in her mask, panting, smiling. She looks satiated. I kneel over her, resting my forehead on her back as we both find our equilibrium.

“Mmm,” I murmur in satisfaction, and plant a kiss on her flawless back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele.”

She hums a contented response from somewhere deep in her throat. I sit back and pull her onto my lap.

“We don’t have long. Come on.” I kiss her hair. She moves off my lap and sits on the bed, beginning to dress as I do up my shirt and redo my bow tie.

Ana gets up and walks over to where I’ve placed her dress. Wearing only her mask, corset and shoes, she embodies sensuality. I knew she was a goddess, but this…She’s beyond all my expectations.

I love her.

I turn away, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and straighten the comforter on my bed.

The uneasy feeling ebbs like a receding tide as I finish and see Ana examining the photographs on my bulletin board. There are many—from all over the world. My parents were fond of a foreign vacation.

“Who’s this?” Ana asks, pointing to an old black-and-white photograph of the crack whore.

“No one of consequence.” I slip on my jacket and straighten my mask. I’d forgotten about that picture. Carrick gave it to me when I was sixteen. I’d tried several times to throw it away, but I could never quite bring myself to dispose of it.

“Son, I have something for you.”

“What?” I’m in Carrick’s study, expecting a dressing down. But for what I don’t know. I hope he hasn’t found out about Mrs. Lincoln.

“You seem calmer, more collected, more yourself these days.”

I nod, hoping that my expression gives nothing away.

“I was going through some old files and I found this.” He hands me a black-and-white photograph of a sad young woman. It’s like a gut punch.

The crack whore.

He studies my reaction. “We were given this at the time of the adoption.”

“Oh,” I manage to say through my closing throat.

“I thought you might want to see it. Do you recognize her?”

“Yes.” I squeeze the word out.

He nods, and I know he has something else to say.