Updated on August 5, 2015
50 Shades Darker – Chapter 4
Well, they’re back together. They had sex again and Christian isn’t going to force any more BDSM on Ana. She’s got everything she ever wanted (although she doesn’t deserve it) and now she can start eating again because the man is back in her life. Thank goodness.
50 Shades Darker
He takes hold of my chin and kisses me hard. A passionate, beseeching kiss, asking for what?
Who knows, you’re the one claiming that a kiss can actively ask a question.
His answering smile is dazzling; relief, elation, and boyish delight combined into one enchanting look that would melt the coldest of hearts.
“Thank you for the iPad.”
Her reaction really didn’t live up to that build-up.
“Come cook me some food, wench. I’m famished.”
Please. ‘Wench’ is not an affectionate term.
“Since you ask so nicely, sire, I’ll get right on it.”
He didn’t ask nicely and this isn’t cute.
He finds the deflated helicopter balloon he gave her, under her pillow. It’s super awkward but he seems to decide it’s endearing. Eugh.
Christian leans against the couch with his just-fucked hair…
But he hasn’t just been fucked or I’m sure we would have heard about it.
I sit cross-legged beside him … and admire his naked feet.
Internationally recognised as the most attractive part of the male body.
“I want to take care of you.” His eyes glow with some unnamed emotion.
I’ll name it. Caring.
“I’m still mad at you for buying SIP.” [The publishing company where she works.]
“I know, but you being mad, baby, wouldn’t stop me.”
No matter how much I freak you out, I WILL NEVER STOP.
She asks him whether, if she decides to change jobs, he’ll buy every company she works at. He says yes. She thinks that this is a ‘no-win’ situation, not taking into account that she could tell him to FUCK RIGHT OFF. Of course, she would then have to starve herself to death, so I guess it really is no-win.
“Where’s the ice cream?”
“In the oven.”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Miss Steele.”
Oh. And I thought I was being hilarious. Shit.
“Well, Anastasia, my new motto is, ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.’”
OH MY GOD THAT’S BRILLIANT BECAUSE IT HAS TWO MEANINGS.
“Ben & Jerry’s & Ana.” He says each word slowly, enunciating every syllable clearly.
Oh fucking my.
Oh yeah, baby, say more dessert names to me. Vienetta. Cornetto. Fab.
Desire, dark, sleek, and wanton runs hot through my veins.
Fair enough. If I had to make desire a substance, it would indeed be runny.
They go to the bedroom and he takes the ice cream with him. He witters on about wanting to play with her and the bed sheets (meaning he is going to get ice cream on them), then gets her to lie on the bed whilst he ties her hands.
“Lie on the bed, faceup.”
Either Christian has just made up a word or this is a new nickname for Ana.
Normally I hate energy-saving bulbs – they are so dim – but being naked here … I’m grateful for the muted light.
Is this the time to be thinking about your variety of LIGHTBULBS?!
My inner goddess is doing a triple axel dismount off the uneven bars.
It’s been a while since we had a bullshit inner goddess line, so here you go.
Very slowly he peels the lid off [the ice cream] and dips the spoon in.
“Hmm … it’s still quite hard.”
Actually, Mr Grey, I think terrible puns are the lowest form of wit.
“Amazing how good plain old vanilla can taste.”
Oh, the loaded meanings! I can barely keep up!
“Hmm, well, this is one way to ensure you eat – force-feed you.”
Force feeding is definitely erotic.
He takes another spoonful and lets the ice cream dribble onto my breasts.
I’m not sure the word ‘dribble’ can ever be sexy.
…his tongue is in my mouth, and it’s cold and skilled and tastes of Christian and vanilla. Delicious.
Yes, I guessed it would probably be delicious.
He trails the ice cream farther down my body, into my pubic hair, on to my clitoris.
Hairy ice cream? Now THAT’S delicious!
I erupt unexpectedly into a mind-blowing orgasm …
…he pushes into me harder, making me cry out again. And the punishing rhythm starts … I feel the familiar quickening deep inside. Again!
You’re SURPRISED by this? He basically keeps you in a state of constant orgasm and it’s still UNEXPECTED for you?!
I am just sensation.
Well you’re not cogent narrative, that’s for sure.
…on cue, like the sorcerer’s apprentice I am, I let go, and we find our release together.
In DH Lawrence’s ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’, Connie and Mellors come at the same time just once and then talk about the rarity of such a moment in great detail afterwards. In this book it happens constantly and they never think anything of it. But never mind, I suppose we shouldn’t trouble ourselves too much with GOOD literature.
Also, sorcerer’s apprentice. Bloody hell.
Afterwards, they lie there in a post-orgasmic stupor. Christian invites Ana to his father’s ‘summer party’ (You know. Summer parties. Everyone has them.). She says she would love to go, but then suddenly realises that she has nothing to wear, which should not be surprising for her since she doesn’t own any of her own clothes anyway. She goes to sleep.
The girl who looks like me is standing outside SIP. Hang on – she is me.
“What do you have that I don’t?” I ask her.
“Who are you?”
“I’m nobody … Who are you? Are you nobody, too…?”
“Then there’s a pair of us – don’t tell, they’d banish us, you know…”
I think this is a dream, and I have NO IDEA what is going on.
She wakes up, screaming, and tells Christian about the weird girl who spoke to her earlier that day. He tells her that it must have been Leila, his ex-sub. Then he gets on the phone and orders someone to find her, because she must be in trouble. Oh no! Ana and Christian’s relationship is in jeopardy maybe!
My anxiety level has shot to DEFCON 1.
Another example of Ana using an utterly meaningless scale to measure her ‘anxiety’.
“While I was with you in Georgia, Leila turned up at my apartment unannounced and made a scene … She made a haphazard attempt to open a vein.”
I am nodding in understanding, because it is clear that life without Christian is no life at all.
That explains the bandage on her wrist.
Crap. What does that mean? Suicidal?
*Even slower clap*
They go back to bed and have sex. Then the next morning they wake up and have sex again.
…trying to coax my hair into some semblance of style – really, it’s just too long.
Yep, there are literally NO STYLES for people with long hair.
“What do you do?”
“Run, weights, kickboxing.”
Simple present verb, plural noun, present continuous verb. Christian, that sentence is a grammatical mess.
…he reaches into his jeans pocket and holds up the key to my little Audi. I am angry. I open my mouth then close it and repeat the process twice.
So angry she has turned into a goldfish.
“I’d like to buy the car from you.”
His expression changes completely. Fury – yes, fury – sweeps across his face.
Oh, get over yourself. If she wants to play at having free will, just let her.
She tears up the $24,000 cheque he gave her ages ago for some reason, as revenge for not letting her buy the car off him. He storms into the other room, calls his bank and transfers the money to her account. “Don’t play games with me,” he says. This enforced generosity is fucking sinister.
And I feel it, the pull – the electricity between us – tangible, drawing us together.
Ah, well, there’s a pull, so he can do whatever the fuck he likes. Seriously, get the hell out of there.
They kiss, grind against each other a bit and all is forgiven. Shitting cocking HELL this relationship is pure poison and I’m meant to ROOT FOR IT?
Anyway, they go out for breakfast, then he takes her to a beauty salon (he owns it, she is surprised, blah blah). A forty-something year old woman Ana nicknames Platinum Blonde turns up to cut her hair.
Platinum Blonde greets him with obvious affection … clearly they know each other well.
Any guesses who it is, folks?
Then it hits me like a wrecking ball … Stunning, older, beautiful. It’s Mrs. Robinson.
Excellent. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of catty comments and territory marking next time. I can hardly wait.
Read Chapter Five.