Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades #3)(54)
Author: E.L. James

"Come for me, baby," he whispers, his voice low. I screw my eyes shut as my body tightens at the low sound of his voice, and I come loudly, spiraling into an intense climax. He stills, his forehead against mine, as he softly whispers my name, wraps his arms around me and finds his own release.

He lifts me gently and lays me on the bed. I lie in his arms, wrung out and finally sated. He nuzzles my neck.

"Better now?" he whispers.

"Hmm."

"Shall we go to bed, or do you want to sleep here?"

"Hmm."

"Mrs. Grey, talk to me." He sounds amused.

"Hmm."

"Is that the best you can do?"

"Hmm."

"Come. Let me put you to bed. I don’t like sleeping here."

Reluctantly, I shift and turn to face him. "Wait," I whisper. He blinks at me, looking all wide-eyed and innocent, and at the same time thoroughly f**ked and pleased with himself.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He nods, smiling smugly like an adolescent boy. "I am now."

"Oh, Christian," I scold and reach up to gently stroke his lovely face. "I was talking about your nightmare."

His expression freezes momentarily, then he closes his eyes and tightens his arms around me, burying his face in my neck.

"Don’t," he whispers, his voice hoarse and raw. My heart lurches and twists once more in my chest, and I clutch him tightly, running my hands down his back and through his hair.

"I’m sorry," I whisper, alarmed by his reaction. Holy f**k – how can I keep up with these mood swings? What the hell was his nightmare about? I don’t want to cause him any more pain by making him relive the details. "It’s okay," I murmur softly, desperate to bring him back to the playful boy of a moment ago. "It’s okay," I repeat over and over soothingly.

"Let’s go to bed," he says quietly after a while, and he pulls away from me, leaving me empty and aching as he rises from the bed. I scramble after him, keeping the satin sheet wrapped around me, and bend to pick up my clothes.

"Leave those," he says, and before I know it, he scoops me up in his arms. "I don’t want you to trip over this sheet and break your neck." I put my arms around him marveling that he’s recovered his composure, and nuzzle him as he carries me downstairs to our bedroom.

My eyes spring open. Something is wrong. Christian is not in bed, though it’s still dark. Glancing at the radio alarm, I see it’s three twenty in the morning. Where’s Christian? Then I hear the piano. Quickly slipping out of bed, I grab my robe and run down the hallway to the great room. The tune he’s playing is so sad – a mournful lament that I’ve heard him play before. I pause in the doorway and watch him in his pool of light while the achingly sorrowful music fills the room. He finishes then starts the piece again. Why such a plaintive tune? I wrap my arms around myself and listen spellbound as he plays. But my heart aches; Christian, why so sad? Is it because of me? Did I do this? When he finishes, only to start a third time, I can bear it no longer. He doesn’t look up as I near the piano, but shifts to one side so I can sit beside him on the piano stool. He continues to play, and I put my head on his shoulder. He kisses my hair but doesn’t stop playing until he’s finished the piece. I peek up at him and he’s staring down at me, warily.

"Did I wake you?" he asks.

"Only because you were gone. What’s that piece called?"

"It’s Chopin. It’s one of his preludes in E minor." Christian pauses.

"It’s called Suffocation . . ."

Reaching over I take his hand. "You’re really shaken by all this, aren’t you?"

He snorts. "A deranged ass**le gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife. She won’t do as she’s told. She drives me crazy. She safe words on me." He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them again, they are stark and raw. "Yeah, I’m pretty shaken up."

I squeeze his hand. "I’m sorry."

He bends and presses his forehead against mine. "I dreamed you were dead," he whispers.

What?

"Lying on the floor – so cold – and you wouldn’t wake up."

Oh, Fifty.

"Hey – it was just a bad dream." Reaching up, I clasp his head in my hands. His eyes burn into mine and the anguish in them is sobering.

"I’m here and I’m cold without you in the bed. Come back to bed, please." I take his hand and stand, waiting to see if he’ll follow me. Finally he stands, too. He’s wearing his pajama bottoms, and they hang in that way he has, and I want to run my fingers along the inside of his waistband, but I resist and lead him back to the bedroom.

When I wake he’s curled around me, sleeping peacefully. I relax and enjoy his enveloping heat, his skin on my skin. I lie very still, not wanting to disturb him.

Boy, what an evening. I feel like I’ve been run over by a train – the freight train that is my husband. Hard to believe that the man lying beside me, looking so serene and young in his sleep, was so tortured last night . . . and so tortured me last night. I gaze up at the ceiling, and it occurs to me that I always think of Christian as strong and dominating – yet the reality is he’s so fragile, my lost boy. And the irony is that he looks upon me as fragile – and I don’t think I am. Compared to him I’m strong.

But am I strong enough for both of us? Strong enough to do what I’m told and give him some peace of mind? I sigh. He’s not asking that much of me. I flit through our conversation of last night. Did we decide anything other than to both try harder? The bottom line is that I love this man, and I need to chart a course for both of us. One that lets me keep my integrity and independence but still be more for him. I am his more, and he is mine. I resolve to make a special effort this weekend not to give him cause for concern.

Christian stirs and lifts his head off my chest, blinking sleepily at me.

"Good morning, Mr. Grey." I smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Grey. Did you sleep well?" He stretches out beside me.

"Once my husband stopped making that terrible racket on the piano, yes, I did."

He smiles his shy smile, and I melt. "Terrible racket? I’ll be sure to e-mail Miss Kathie and let her know."

"Miss Kathie?"

"My piano teacher."

I giggle.

"That’s a lovely sound," he says. "Shall we have a better day today?"

"Okay," I agree. "What do you want to do?"

"After I have made love to my wife, and she’s cooked me breakfast, I’d like to take her to Aspen."

I gape at him. "Aspen?"

"Yes."

"Aspen, Colorado?"

"The very same. Unless they’ve moved it. After all, you did pay twenty-four thousand dollars for the experience."

I grin at him. " That was your money."

"Our money."

"It was your money when I made the bid." I roll my eyes.

"Oh, Mrs. Grey, you and your eye rolling," he whispers as he runs his hand up my thigh.

"Won’t it take hours to get to Colorado?" I ask to distract him.

"Not by jet," he says silkily as his hand reaches my behind. Of course – my husband has a jet. How could I forget? His hand continues to skim up my body, lifting my nightdress as it goes, and soon I’ve forgotten everything.

Taylor drives us onto the tarmac at Sea-Tac and around to where the GEH jet is waiting. It’s a gray day in Seattle, but I refuse to let the weather dampen my soaring spirits. Christian is in a much better mood – he’s excited about something; lit up like Christmas, and twitching like a small boy with a big secret. I wonder what scheme he’s dreamed up. He looks dreamy – all tousled hair, white T-shirt and black jeans – not CEO-like at all today. He takes my hand as Taylor glides to a stop at the foot of the jet steps.

"I have a surprise for you," he murmurs and kisses my knuckles. I grin at him. "Good surprise?"

"I hope so." He smiles warmly.

Hmm . . . what can it be?

Sawyer leaps out from the front and opens my door. Taylor opens Christian’s then retrieves our cases from the trunk. Stephan is waiting at the top of the stairs when we enter the aircraft. I glance into the cockpit to see First Officer Beighley flipping switches on the imposing instrument panel.

Christian and Stephan shake hands. "Good morning, sir." Stephan beams at Christian.

"Thanks for doing this at such short notice." Christian grins back at him. "Our guests here?"

"Yes sir," Stephan replies.