Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray Read Online Free PDF

neighboring his elbows, feverishly drinking in their perfume as if it were wine.
    Helen placed her hand on his shoulder and began to massage.
    â€œYou are quite right to do that,” she murmured, nodding at the flowers. “Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.”
    â€œIs that right?” asked Dorian.
    â€œYes,” asserted Helen, rubbing her knees discreetly in the piles of her skirts as if to sharpen a point between them. “You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know.”
    Dorian Gray blushed and turned his head away. Helen knew he liked her—that much couldn’t be helped—but to what extent he would allow himself was not yet clear. Overripe as she may be at twenty-eight years old, she was still a graceful, beautiful woman with an exquisite figure, unmarred by child labor or any other labor. She had a romantic olive-colored complexion that forbade sunburn and rosy shame in the cheeks. Her eyes were a mystic concoction of light and dark autumnal shades. The color that shone most prominently was a dazzling emerald. Gentlemen and ladies alike readily complimented her eyes, but only the gentlemen complimented her best feature not by speaking but by staring, mesmerized. Her lips were full and perfectly even, with a particularly deep divot in the upper lip. Best of all, they were well-coached in the sport of pleasuring.
    Why shouldn’t Dorian be seduced by her? To think of all the fun he had probably been depriving himself of thus far! Seducing him would be as simple as unbuckling his belt. Of course there was the matter of getting him to relax and trust her. He was rather like Rosemary, Helen thought, although unlike Rosemary, he surely had some sexual experience and, with proper instruction, would have much more before succumbing to a humdrum marriage.
    Helen leaned back into the bench, her hands interlocked on her lap. Dorian braved a glance down at her hands. Helen pushed her thumbs down and groaned so quietly she could have been sighing—that was the trick with these young men: Don’t give them too much. Make them wonder if it’s their imaginations at work.
    The sound of the screen door crashing caused both Dorian and Helen to gasp, as if they’d been caught in the act. It was Parker with their drinks. He set the tray on a matching wicker table in the shade. He gave a bowing nod in Dorian and Helen’s direction and left.
    Dorian—now jittery—bounced up to get the drinks, but Helen held him back.
    â€œAllow me, darling,” she said, and held his shoulder for an extended moment. He was sitting in direct sunlight, she noticed then, and so admonished him. “You really must not allow yourself to become sunburnt. It would be unbecoming.”
    In the short time it took to collect and deliver the drinks, Dorian was worked up again. The painting had put quite a strain on him.
    â€œWhat can a sunburn matter?” he cried, with a nervous laugh. He did, however, move into the shade.
    â€œIt should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause you have the most marvelous youth, and youth is the one thing worth having.”
    â€œI don’t feel that, Helen.”
    â€œNo, you don’t feel it now. Someday, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and repressed passions branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you will feel it terribly.” Helen duly shuddered. “Now, wherever you go, you charm the world. Will it always be so? . . . You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. Gray.”
    Dorian folded his hands under his chin and frowned deeply in consideration of Helen’s words.
    â€œDon’t frown,” said Helen. “Beauty is a form of Genius— is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no