Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades #3)(65)
Author: E.L. James

"You’re so beautiful." He dips his head lower to the base of my throat. "Such beautiful skin." His breath is soft as his lips glide down to my br**sts.

What? I am panting, confused – wanting, now waiting. I thought this was going to be quick.

"Christian." I hear the quiet plea in my voice and reach down, fisting my hands in his hair.

"Hush," he whispers and circles my nipple with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth and tugging hard.

"Ah!" I moan and squirm, tilting my pelvis up to tempt him. He grins against my skin and turns his attention to my other breast.

"Impatient, Mrs. Grey?" He then sucks hard on my nipple. I tug his hair. He groans and peers up. "I’ll restrain you," he warns.

"Take me," I beg.

"All in good time," he murmurs against my skin. His hand travels down at an infuriatingly slow speed to my hip as he worships my nipple with his mouth. I moan loudly, my breath short and shallow, and try once more to entice him into me, rocking against him. He’s thick and heavy and close, but he’s taking his own sweet leisurely time with me.

Fuck this. I struggle and twist, determined to buck him off me again.

"What the – "

Grabbing my hands, Christian pins them down on the bed, my arms spread wide, and rests his full bodyweight on me, completely subduing me. I am breathless, wild.

"You wanted resistance," I say, panting. He rears up over me and gazes down, his hands still locked around my wrists. I place my heels under his behind and push. He doesn’t move. Gah!

"You don’t want to play nice?" he asks astonished, his eyes alight with excitement.

"I just want you to make love to me, Christian." Could he be any more obtuse? First we’re fighting and wrestling then he’s all tender and sweet. It’s confusing. I’m in bed with Mr. Mercurial.

"Please." I press my heels against his backside once more. Burning gray eyes search mine. Oh, what is he thinking? He looks momentarily bewildered and confused. He releases my hands and sits back on his heels, pulling me into his lap.

"Okay, Mrs. Grey, we’ll do this your way." He reaches around my waist, lifts, and slowly lowers me on to him so I’m straddling him.

"Ah!" This is it. This is what I want. This is what I need. Curling my arms around his neck, I twist my fingers in his hair, glorying in the feeling of him inside me. I start to move. Taking control, taking him at my pace, at my speed. He moans, and his lips find mine and we’re lost.

I trail my fingers through the hair on Christian’s chest. He lies on his back, still and quiet beside me as we both catch our breath. His hand thrums rhythmically down my back.

"You’re quiet," I whisper and kiss his shoulder. He turns and looks down at me, his expression giving nothing away. "That was fun." I add. Shit, is something wrong?

"You confound me, Mrs. Grey."

"Confound you?"

He shifts so that we’re face to face. "Yes. You. Calling the shots. It’s . . . different."

"Good different? Or bad different?" I reach up and trail a finger over his lips. His brow furrows, as if he doesn’t quite understand the question. Absentmindedly, he purses his lips to kiss my finger.

"Good different," he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

"You’ve never indulged this little fantasy before?" I blush as I say it. Do I really want to know any more about my husband’s colorful . . . um, kaleidoscopic, sex life before me? My subconscious eyes me warily over her tortoiseshell half-moon specs. Do you really want to go there?

"No, Anastasia, you can touch me." It’s a simple explanation that speaks volumes. Of course, the fifteen couldn’t.

"Mrs. Robinson could touch you." I murmur the words before my brain registers what I’ve said. Shit.

He stills. His eyes widen with his oh-no-where’s-she-going-withthis? expression. "That was different," he whispers. Suddenly I want to know. "Good different or bad different?"

He gazes at me. Doubt and possibly pain flit across his face, and fleetingly he looks like a man drowning. Why did I mention her?

"Bad, I think." His words are barely audible.

Holy shit!

"I thought you liked it."

"I did. At the time."

"Not now?"

He gazes at me, eyes wide, then slowly shakes his head. Oh my . . . "Oh, Christian." I’m overwhelmed by the feelings that swamp me. My lost boy. I launch myself at him and kiss his face, his throat, his chest, his little round scars. He groans, pulls me to him, and kisses me passionately. And very slowly, and tenderly, at his pace, he makes love to me once more.

"Ana Tyson. Punching above your weight!" Ethan applauds as I head into the kitchen for breakfast. He, Mia, and Kate are sitting at the breakfast bar while Mrs. Bentley cooks waffles. Christian is nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, Mrs. Grey." Mrs. Bentley smiles. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Good Morning. Whatever’s going, thank you. Where’s Christian?"

"Outside." Kate gestures with her head toward the backyard. I wander over to the window that looks out onto the yard and the mountains beyond. It’s a clear, powder-blue summer day, and my beautiful husband is about twenty feet away in deep discussion with some guy.

"That’s Mr. Bentley he’s talking to," calls Mia from the breakfast bar. I turn to look at her, distracted by her sulky tone. She looks venomously at Ethan. Oh dear. I wonder once more what’s going on between them. Frowning I turn my attention back to my husband and Mr. Bentley.

Mrs. Bentley’s husband is fair-haired, dark eyed and wiry, dressed in work pants and an Aspen Fire Department T-shirt. Christian is dressed in his black jeans and T-shirt. As the two men amble across the lawn toward the house lost in their conversation, Christian casually bends to pick up what looks like a bamboo cane that must have been blown over or discarded in the flowerbed. Pausing, Christian absentmindedly holds out the cane at arm’s length as if weighing it carefully and swipes it through the air, just once. Oh . . .

Mr. Bentley appears to see nothing odd in his behavior. They continue their discussion, nearer the house this time, then pause once more, and Christian repeats the gesture. The tip of the cane hits the ground. Glancing up, Christian sees me standing at the window. Suddenly I feel as if I’m spying on him. He blinks. I give him an embarrassed wave then turn and walk back to the breakfast bar.

"What were you doing?" asks Kate.

"Just watching Christian."

"You have got it bad." She snorts.

"And you don’t, oh soon-to-be sister-in-law?" I reply, grinning at her and trying to bury the disquieting visual of Christian wielding a cane. I am startled when Kate leaps up and hugs me.

"Sister!" she exclaims, and it’s hard not to be swept up in her joy.

"Hey, sleepyhead." Christian wakes me. "We’re coming in to land. Buckle up."

I fumble sleepily for my seat belt, but Christian leans over and fastens it for me. He kisses my forehead before settling back into his seat. I lean my head on his shoulder again and close my eyes. An impossibly long walk, followed by a picnic lunch on top of a spectacular mountain, has exhausted me. The rest of our party is quiet, too – even Mia. She looks despondent, as she has all day. I wonder how her campaign with Ethan is going. I don’t even know where they slept last night. My eyes catch hers and I give a small are-you-okay? smile. She gives me a brief sad smile in return and goes back to her book. I peek up at Christian through my lashes. He’s working on a contract or something, reading it through and annotating the margins. But he seems relaxed. Elliot is snoring softly beside Kate.

I have yet to corner Elliot and quiz him about Gia, but it’s been impossible to pry him away from Kate. Christian isn’t interested enough to ask, which is irritating, but I haven’t pressed him. We’ve been enjoying ourselves too much. Elliot rests his hand possessively on Kate’s knee. She’s looking radiant, and to think that only yesterday afternoon she was so unsure of him. What did Christian call him?

Lelliot. Perhaps that’s a family nickname? It was sweet, better than manwhore. Abruptly, Elliot opens his eyes and gazes straight at me. I blush, caught staring.

He grins. "I sure love your blush, Ana," he teases, stretching. Kate gives me her self-satisfied, cat-ate-the-canary smile. Officer Beighley announces our approach to Sea-Tac, and Christian clasps my hand.

"How was your weekend, Mrs. Grey?" Christian asks once we’re in the Audi heading back to Escala. Taylor and Ryan are up front.