Fifty Shades Freed

He laughs. “You expect me to leave?”

I giggle. “You want to stay?”

He cocks his head to one side, his expression amused.

“You are one kinky son of a bitch. Out. I don’t want you to watch me pee. That’s a step too far.” I stand and wave him out of the bathroom.

When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s changed into his pajama bottoms. Hmm . . . Christian in PJs. Mesmerized, I gaze at his abdomen, his muscles, his happy

trail. It’s distracting. He strides over to me.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks wryly.

“Always.”

“I think you’re slightly drunk, Mrs. Grey.”

“I think, for once, I have to agree with you, Mr. Grey.”

“Let me help you out of what little there is of this dress. It really should come with a health warning.” He turns me around and undoes the single button at the

neck.

“You were so mad,” I murmur.

“Yes. I was.”

“At me?”

“No. Not at you.” He kisses my shoulder. “For once.”

I smile. Not mad at me. This is progress. “Makes a nice change.”

“Yes. It does.” He kisses my other shoulder then tugs my dress down over my backside and onto the floor. He removes my panties at the same time, leaving me

naked. Reaching up, he takes my hand.

“Step,” he commands, and I step out of the dress, holding his hand for balance.

He stands and tosses my dress and panties onto the chair with Mia’s trench coat.

“Arms up,” he says softly. He slips his T-shirt over me and pulls it down, covering me up. I am ready for bed.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, my minty breath mingling with his.

“As much as I’d love to bury myself in you, Mrs. Grey—you’ve had too much to drink, you’re at nearly eight thousand feet, and you didn’t sleep well last night.

Come. Get into bed.” He pulls back the duvet and I climb in. He covers me up and kisses my forehead once more.

“Close your eyes. When I come back to bed, I’ll expect you to be asleep.” It’s a threat, a command . . . it’s Christian.

“Don’t go,” I plead.

“I have some calls to make, Ana.”

“It’s Saturday. It’s late. Please.”

“It’s Saturday. It’s late. Please.”

He runs his hands through his hair. “Ana, if I come to bed with you now, you won’t get any rest. Sleep.” He’s adamant. I close my eyes and his lips brush my

forehead once more.

“Goodnight, baby,” he breathes.

Images of the day flash through my mind . . . Christian hauling me over his shoulder in the plane. His anxiety as to whether or not I’d like the house. Making love

this afternoon. The bath. His reaction to my dress. Decking Blond Giant—my palm tingles at the memory. And then Christian putting me to bed.

Who would have thought? I grin widely, the word progress ru

I am too warm. Christian warm. His head is on my shoulder, and he’s breathing softly on my neck while he sleeps, his legs threaded through mine, his arm around

my waist. I linger on the edge of consciousness, aware that if I wake fully I’ll wake him, too, and he doesn’t sleep enough. Hazily my mind wanders through the

events of yesterday evening. I drank too much—boy did I drink too much. I’m amazed Christian let me. I smile as I remember him putting me to bed. That was

sweet, real sweet, and unexpected. I conduct a quick mental inventory of how I’m feeling. Stomach? Fine. Head? Surprisingly, fine, but fuzzy. My palm is still red

from last night. Sheesh. Idly I think about Christian’s palms when he’s spanked me. I squirm and he wakes.

“What’s wrong?” Sleepy gray eyes search mine.

“Nothing. Good morning.” I run the fingers of my uninjured hand through his hair.

“Mrs. Grey, you look lovely this morning,” he says, kissing my cheek, and I light up from within.

“Thank you for taking care of me last night.”

“I like taking care of you. It’s what I want to do,” he says quietly, but his eyes betray him as triumph flares in their gray depths. It’s like he’s won the World

Series or the Super Bowl.

Oh, my Fifty.

“You make me feel cherished.”

“That’s because you are,” he murmurs and my heart clenches.

He clasps my hand and I wince. He releases me immediately, alarmed. “The punch?” he asks. His eyes frost as he scrutinizes mine, and his voice is laced with

sudden anger.

“I slapped him. I didn’t punch him.”

“That fucker!”

I thought we’d dealt with this last night.

“I can’t bear that he touched you.”

“He didn’t hurt me, he was just inappropriate. Christian, I’m okay. My hand’s a little red, that’s all. Surely you know what that’s like?” I smirk, and his expression changes to one of amused surprise.

“Why, Mrs. Grey, I am very familiar with that.” His lips twist in amusement. “I could reacquaint myself with that feeling this minute, should you so wish.”

“Oh, stow your twitching palm, Mr. Grey.” I stroke his face with my injured hand, my fingers caressing his sideburn. Gently I tug the little hairs. It distracts him,

and he takes my hand and plants a tender kiss in my palm. Miraculously, the pain disappears.

“Why didn’t you tell me this hurt last night?”

“Um . . . I didn’t really feel it last night. It’s okay now.”

His eyes soften and his mouth twists. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I deserve.”

“That’s quite a right arm you have there, Mrs. Grey.”

“You’d do well to remember that, Mr. Grey.”

“Oh really?” He rolls suddenly so that he’s fully on top of me, pressing me into the mattress, holding my wrists above my head. He gazes down at me.

“I’d fight you any day, Mrs. Grey. In fact, subduing you in bed is a fantasy of mine.” He kisses my throat.

What?

“I thought you subdued me all the time.” I gasp as he nibbles my earlobe.

“Hmm . . . but I’d like some resistance,” he murmurs, his nose skirting my jaw.

Resistance? I still. He stops, releasing my hands, and leans up on his elbows.

“You want me to fight you? Here?” I whisper, trying to contain my surprise. Okay—my shock. He nods, his eyes hooded but wary as he gauges my reaction.

“Now?”

He shrugs, and I see the idea flit through his mind. He gives me his shy smile and nods again, slowly.

Oh my . . . He’s tense, lying on top of me, and his growing erection is digging tantalizingly into my soft, willing flesh, distracting me. What’s this about?

Brawling? Fantasy? Will he hurt me? My i

“Is this what you meant about coming to bed angry?”

He nods once more, his eyes still wary.

Hmm . . . my Fifty wants to rumble.

“Don’t bite your lip,” he warns.

Compliantly, I release my lip. “I think you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Grey.” I bat my lashes and squirm provocatively beneath him. This could be fun.

“Disadvantage?”

“Surely you’ve already got me where you want me?”

He smirks and presses his groin into mine once more.

“Good point well made, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers and quickly kisses my lips. Abruptly he shifts and takes me with him, rolling over so I’m straddling him. I grab

his hands, pi

the strands tickle his face. He jerks his face away but doesn’t try to stop me.

“So, you want to play rough?” I ask, skimming my crotch over his.

His mouth opens and he inhales sharply.

“Yes.” He hisses, and I release him.

“Wait.” I reach over for the glass of water beside the bed. Christian must have left it here. It’s cool and sparkling—too cool to have been sitting here for long—

and I wonder when he came to bed.