Read Online Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde - Free Book Online

impressed—now felt like a waste of time. What did his support matter if he was not honest with her? Financially speaking, it was her mother’s money that got her by. She didn’t need her father for that. When she left, she shut the door so quietly it was as if it had been closed all along. Like I was never there , she thought, like I never even existed .

CHAPTER VI
    A volatile summer storm was heading for London. The sky was ashen, with low clouds and a rumbling thunder in the distance. Soon it would pour, and Rosemary, having done such a haphazard job of wrapping the painting, was risking it getting water damage. Still, she took her time. A couple of young men offered to help her, for the painting was visibly heavy and Rosemary tipped precariously under its awkward weight, looking like a girl who may faint. She caught her reflection in the painting’s shiny frame and scarcely recognized the deathly looking girl with the chalky complexion and the dark half-moons under the eyes.
    She’d been to Dorian Gray’s home once before, but it was in secret. Not even he had known that she was there. It was early in their friendship, the night she first had the dream, where her subconscious took reign and her body lunged beyond her control. In the dream, Dorian was on top of her, but he had only his shirt off, and her hands grazed the smooth mounds of muscle. She still had her knickers on but his hand was reached down them, playing its way finger by finger down, down, down. His forefinger traced the folds of her vagina and circled around her clitoris for a stretch of time that was Paradise and Hell at once. When he finally touched her there, the climax was immediate and seized every muscle in her body. It was when she was about to explode that she woke up and, dazed, realized she was furiously rubbing herself against the mattress. As soon as she thought to stop herself, she exploded, muffling her hard-earned cry of release into the pillow.
    Never before had she known such a dream, and certainly she hadn’t ever found herself relating to her bed in such a way. Too shaken to fall back asleep, she waited for dawn, then hailed a hansom and rode to Dorian’s house. She emerged from the cab but was intent on not being seen. She lurked outside the gate, touching the gold poppies, feeling that in doing so she might collect some sacred essence of Dorian. Just knowing she was close to him was all she needed. The sky had been pure opal, and the roofs of the houses glistened like silver against it. The peace in knowing he was sleeping just yards away was the greatest she could remember.
    This time, she didn’t bother with hailing a hansom. That would be too reasonable a choice, and this was a day for spitting in the face of reason. It was a day for walking too far, for carrying too much, for being too alone when the rain began to fall.
    Exhausted and beaten down by betrayal (and chances were she would hear of more betrayal regarding her oh-so-dear friend— really, like a sister —Helen!), Rosemary couldn’t think straight. The facts she’d just learned from her father fled before her mind like frightened forest things. Around them swirled hallucinatory horrors: Helen’s chilling laughter, Dorian’s gray eyes aglow with intrigue as he listened to Helen’s depraved teachings, the toxic smoke floating from Helen’s languid exhalations.
    It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon when she arrived at Dorian’s home. She did not knock right away, but loitered on the doorstep, looking for signs of life— and finding none in the blank close-shuttered windows and their staring blinds. Clutched by the anxious thought that he could be in bed with Helen, she set the painting down and pounded on the door. An elderly valet opened the door at once as if he’d been waiting for her.
    â€œYes?” he said, taking in her disheveled appearance with-out a flicker of surprise in