Fifty Shades Freed

“So it would appear,” he says quietly. His mouth presses into a thin angry line. “Let’s get you home,” he mutters. He starts up the R8 with a roar and reverses

smoothly out of the space.

“Where’s the, er . . . unsub? What does that mean by the way? Sounds very BDSM.”

Christian smiles briefly as he eases the car out of the lot and back onto Stewart Street.

“It stands for Unknown Subject. Ryan is ex-FBI.”

“Ex-FBI?”

“Don’t ask.” Christian shakes his head. It’s obvious he’s deep in contemplation.

“Well, where is this female unsub?”

“On the I-5, heading south.” He glances at me, his eyes grim.

“On the I-5, heading south.” He glances at me, his eyes grim.

Jeez—from passionate to calm to anxious in the space of a few moments. I reach over and caress his thigh, ru

jeans, hoping to improve his mood. He takes his hand off the steering wheel and stops the slow ascent of my hand.

“No,” he says. “We’ve made it this far. You don’t want me to have an accident three blocks from home.” He raises my hand to his lips and plants a cool kiss on

my index finger to take the sting out of his rebuke. Cool, calm, authoritative . . . My Fifty. And for the first time in a while he makes me feel like a wayward child. I

withdraw my hand and sit quietly for a moment.

“Female?”

“Apparently so.” He sighs, turns into the underground garage at Escala, and punches the access code into the security keypad. The gate swings open and he

drives on, smoothly parking the R8 in its designated space.

“I really like this car,” I murmur.

“Me too. And I like how you handled it—and how you managed not to break it.”

“You can buy me one for my birthday,” I smirk at him.

Christian’s mouth drops open as I climb out of the car.

“A white one, I think,” I add, leaning down and smirking at him.

He smiles. “Anastasia Grey, you never cease to amaze me.”

I shut the door and walk to the end of the car to wait for him. Gracefully he climbs out, watching me with that look . . . that look that calls to something deep

inside me. I know this look well. Once he’s in front of me, he leans down and whispers, “You like the car. I like the car. I’ve fucked you in it . . . perhaps I should

fuck you on it.”

I gasp. And a sleek silver BMW pulls into the garage. Christian glances at it anxiously, then with a

“But it looks like we have company. Come.” He grabs my hand and heads for the garage elevator. He pushes the call button and as we wait, the driver of the

BMW joins us. He’s young, casually dressed, with long, layered, dark hair. He looks like he works in the media.

“Hi,” he says, smiling warmly at us.

Christian puts his arm around me and nods politely.

“I’ve just moved in. Apartment sixteen.”

“Hello.” I return his smile. He has kind, soft brown eyes.

The elevator arrives and we all walk in. Christian glances down at me, his expression unreadable.

“You’re Christian Grey,” the young man says.

Christian gives him a tight smile.

“Noah Logan.” He holds out his hand. Reluctantly, Christian takes it. “Which floor?” Noah asks.

“I have to input a code.”

“Oh.”

“Penthouse.”

“Oh.” Noah smiles broadly. “Of course.” He presses the button for the eighth floor and the doors close. “Mrs. Grey, I presume.”

“Yes.” I give him a polite smile and we shake hands. Noah flushes a little as he gazes at me a fraction too long. I mirror his flush and Christian’s arm tightens

around me.

“When did you move in?” I ask.

“Last weekend. I love the place.”

There’s an awkward pause before the elevator stops at Noah’s floor.

“Great to meet you both,” he says sounding relieved and steps out. The doors close silently behind him. Christian taps in the entry code and the elevator ascends

again.

“He seemed nice,” I murmur. “I’ve never met any of the neighbors before.”

Christian scowls. “I prefer it that way.”

“That’s because you’re a hermit. I thought he was pleasant enough.”

“A hermit?”

“Hermit. Stuck in your ivory tower,” I state matter-of-factly. Christian’s lips twitch with amusement.

“Our ivory tower. And I think you have another name to add to the list of your admirers, Mrs. Grey.”

I roll my eyes. “Christian, you think everyone is an admirer.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

My pulse quickens. “I sure did,” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat.

He cocks his head to one side, wearing his smoldering, arrogant, amused expression. “What shall we do about that?”

“Something rough.”

He blinks to hide his surprise. “Rough?”

“Please.”

“You want more?”

I nod slowly. The doors to the elevator open and we’re home.

“How rough?” he breathes, his eyes darkening.

I gaze at him, saying nothing. He closes his eyes for a moment, and then grabs my hand and hauls me into the foyer.

When we burst through the double doors, Sawyer is standing in the hallway, looking expectantly at the two of us.

“Sawyer, I’d like to be debriefed in an hour,” Christian says.

“Yes, sir.” Turning, Sawyer heads back into Taylor’s office.

We have an hour!

Christian glances down at me. “Rough?”

I nod.

“Well, Mrs. Grey, you’re in luck. I’m taking requests today.”

“Do you have anything in mind?” Christian murmurs, pi

adrenaline, my earlier bad mood—I don’t understand, but I want this, and I want it badly. A puzzled expression flits across Christian’s face. “Kinky fuckery?” he

asks, his words a soft caress.

I nod, feeling my face flame. Why am I embarrassed by this? I have done all ma

embarrassed because I want this and I’m ashamed to admit it? My subconscious glares at me. Stop overthinking.

“Carte blanche?” He whispers the question, eyeing me speculatively as if he’s trying to read my mind.

Carte blanche? Holy fuck—what will that entail? “Yes,” I murmur nervously, as excitement blooms deep inside me. He smiles a slow sexy smile.

“Come,” he says and tugs me toward the stairs. His intention is clear. Playroom! My i

go.

At the top of the stairs, he releases my hand and unlocks the playroom door. The key is on the Yes Seattle keychain that I gave him not so long ago.

“After you, Mrs. Grey,” he says and swings the door open.

The playroom smells reassuringly familiar, of leather and wood and fresh polish. I blush, knowing that Mrs. Jones must have been in here cleaning while we

were away on our honeymoon. As we enter, Christian switches on the lights and the dark red walls are illuminated with soft, diffused light. I stand gazing at him,

anticipation ru

then shakes his head, amused.

“What do you want, Anastasia?” he asks gently.

“You.” My response is breathy.

He smirks. “You’ve got me. You’ve had me since you fell into my office.”

“Surprise me then, Mr. Grey.”

His mouth twists with repressed humor and carnal promise. “As you wish, Mrs. Grey.” He folds his arms and raises one long index finger to his lips while he

appraises me. “I think we’ll start by ridding you of your clothes.” He steps forward. Grasping the front of my short denim jacket, he opens it and pushes it over my