E.L. James Confirms She’ll Write ‘Fifty Shades Darker’ From Christian’s Perspective
And I shall rip it apart as well.
Another long chapter. At least this one is “only” 57 pages. Ugh. This one will be in two parts.
If there’s one thing James is good at, it’s failing. Right off the bat we get Grey faking a guilt trip.
I wake with a start and a pervading sense of guilt, as if I’ve committed a terrible sin.
Is it because I’ve fucked Anastasia Steele? Virgin?
She’s snuggled up fast asleep beside me. I check the radio alarm: it’s after three in the morning. Ana sleeps the sound sleep of an innocent. Well, not so innocent now. My body stirs as I watch her.
I could wake her.
Fuck her again.
Either she’s trying to show he has a conscience that he ignores if he’s horny, or her hero gets off on doing bad things. I think it’s the latter.
Fucking her was merely a means to an end and a pleasant diversion.
Yes. Very pleasant.
More like incredible.
It was just sex, for fuck’s sake.
Too bad it wasn’t “just” sex to Ana. It was an emotional connection to her, and Grey even called her the “flowers and romance” sort. He has no reason to think this was only a random fucking to her. Yet this was, as he says right there, “merely a means to an end.”
The romance of the ages, Folks!
There might be a lot of face-palming in this chapter. I don’t know yet. I sort of hope so since I have a fun collection of these memes, and they’re a bit of entertainment to keep me from going nuclear on the writing world for embracing this drivel.
She will be a joy to train.
My cock twitches in agreement.
Yes. That is what this book is, and your decision that she WILL be a joy yo train, despite her agreeing to nothing.
Surprisingly, he picks up the condoms himself, though why he couldn’t have tossed them into a small trash can by his bed, I have no idea. There are some pretty ones out there that are all sleek and steel, just his thing. There’s even R2D2, which I now want.
Time for a sad panda piano solo! He plays, my eyes lose focus in boredom at the description, Ana interrupts him, and he chastises her for being awake even though he was just playing a grand piano at 3am. Ana calls his playing melancholy, and I’m sharing this next piece since I get the feeling it’ll come in handy later.
“May I speak freely? Sir.” Leila is kneeling beside me while I work.
“Sir, you are most melancholy today.”
“Yes, Sir. Is there something that you would like me to do…?”
File that away for now.
He leads her back to bed, and James seems to not understand being a woman.
There’s blood on my sheets. Her blood. Evidence of her now-absent virginity. Her eyes dart from the stains to me and she looks away, embarrassed.
“Well, that’s going to give Mrs. Jones something to think about.”
She looks mortified.
It’s just your body, sweetheart. I grasp her chin and tip her head back so I can see her expression. I’m about to give her a short lecture on how not to be ashamed of her body…
You don’t have to be ashamed of your body to be embarrassed that someone you don’t really know had seen blood form your vagina on the sheets. I’m married to someone I knew well even before we became a couple, someone I love and respect and who loves and respects me in return, someone who was a rock during our daughter’s homebirth, who has seen me vulnerable and strong and has never made me feel anything less than strong for it, and yet, when blood form me gets on the sheets, my thought is, “Oh, crap.” It’s a body fluid, and few people want others to see that. Why on earth would Ana feel anything other than mortification that her blood is going to stain his expensive sheets?
Naturally, Grey’s first thought is summed up as, “Yes! Proof I nailed a virgin! And at least the housekeeper will get to know!” Someone so childish shouldn’t be having sex at all since it can lead to a pregnancy. Spoiler alert: Ana will be married to this loser, AND pregnant, by the middle of August. It’s the end of May now. They’re going to be parents in about a year, to a little boy whose fingers will later be used to get Ana horny, because she ends up as messed up as Grey. Let me know if you want to know what happens in that scene. It’s from Fifty Shades Freed.
“Get into bed,” I order, rather more sharply than I’d intended, but I hope she doesn’t detect my fear. Her eyes widen with confusion and maybe hurt.
Jesus, Asshole, at least get something to put down so she doesn’t have to lay in blood.
She’s still standing, staring at me. “Bed,” I command more forcefully.
Shut up. You’ve already emotionally hurt her.
He gets in with her and promises to sleep with her, though plans to get out of bed as soon as she falls asleep, because he’s a lying liar who lies. Oh no! He falls asleep too! Time for another symbolic dream about his horrid first four years of life!
Mommy is happy today. She is singing.
Singing about what love has to do with it.
And cooking. And singing.
My tummy gurgles. She is cooking bacon and waffles.
They smell good. My tummy likes bacon and waffles.
They smell so good.
I swear James is allergic to paragraphs.
Also a happy parent making bacon and waffles sounds like a pretty good morning. I’m still waiting to see a time when he’s hungry, aside from after she died.
The smell of bacon wakes him, and he finds Ana in the kitchen.
Unobserved, I take a seat at the kitchen counter and watch the show. She’s whisking eggs, making breakfast, her braids bouncing as she jiggles from foot to foot, and I realize she’s not wearing underwear.
She has to be one of the most uncoordinated females I’ve ever seen. It’s amusing, charming, and strangely arousing at the same time; I think of all the ways I can improve her coordination.
Since she’s wearing a shirt, which I’m presuming is closed in the front since he didn’t mention being her chest… Never mind. Magic. That’s how he knows she’s not wearing undies. But the bigger thing here is the appearance of Bella Swan and her disappearing clumsiness. Do you have any idea how coordinated you have to be to whisk eggs while dancing around? I’ve got good balance. One of my hobbies is ballet. I take classes at the school of a national ballet company. I can’t whisk eggs while dancing. At least without spilling them. Aside from Ana falling over thin air into his office, we never again see her clumsy.
He teases her, despite knowing she has pretty fragile feelings.
With a pout she turns her back on me and continues to whisk the eggs with gusto. I wonder if she has any idea how disrespectful this is to someone like me.
Too bad she didn’t show him her back as she was heading out the door, never to return. Well, tomorrow night, book-time, we’ll see how Grey takes it when he merely thinks she’s breaking it off. Hint: Rape
I want to fuck her again, preferably after breakfast, but if she’s too sore that will be out of the question. Perhaps I could use her mouth this time.
Seriously, how are we supposed to believe he cares about her when, oh, if her vagina is sore, he’ll just shove his cock into her mouth? To use James’s words. She did miss the chance to make some sausage jokes by having Ana make bacon instead.
While looking for a picture of a lady more or less fellating a sausage to put here, I found this instead (and learned that there’s a fetish for giving blow jobs through a hole in a pizza and pizza box…not sexy), and it’s funny. I now want to get a long sausage, and do this.
Grey tells her he’d like to start basic training using her mouth, and she’s so shocked she chokes on her tea. I’m not sure Ana knows what a blow job is. That shouldn’t have come as such a shock.
“Eat, Anastasia. You didn’t eat last night.”
“I’m really not hungry,” she says.
Well, this is frustrating. “I would really like you to finish your breakfast.” My voice is low.
“What is it with you and food?” she snaps.
Oh, baby, you really don’t want to know. “I told you, I have issues with wasted food. Eat.” I glare at her. Don’t push me on this, Ana. She gives me a mulish look and starts to eat.
Back off, Grey. Just shut up, and stop talking about your food issues. You didn’t really go hungry as a kid. The memories you’ve shown us in this book, and what you told Ana in the other books, all have either food or toys, unless it’s after Ella’s death.
Kate calls, and Grey doesn’t here the conversation. When Ana comes back, we find out how little she knows.
“The NDA, does it cover everything?” she asks, halting me in my tracks as I shut the pantry cupboard.
“Why?” Where’s she going with this? What has she said to Kavanagh?
She takes a deep breath. “Well, I have a few questions, you know, about sex. And I’d like to ask Kate.”
“You can ask me.”
“Christian, with all due respect—” She stops.
“It’s just about mechanics. I won’t mention the Red Room of Pain,” she says in a rush.”
If he cared about her, and about her consent, he’d be okay, no, he’s be insistent, about her learning all she can. Do we have that happening? No. He wants ALL she knows to be wha he tells her. She doesn’t even know the mechanics of sex. This isn’t a woman to go full-blown beatings on in less than two weeks. This is railroading in action.
They make their way to his bathtub.
And I’m going to call this section a wrap. There’s still far too much to go in this crapter. Not a typo. They’re all crapters.